To Kill a Mockingbird
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: The 'And I' series in a new cover, with a 5th chapter! Someone is watching Derek Morgan, with passion, lust, desire and morbid dreams, and that person is waiting to strike. How do you kill a mockingbird? Started as a one-shot, but it turned into a series.
1. And I watched

"Doug Levey, a biologist at the University of Florida, had discovered that mockingbirds could pick out a threatening person from a crowd. Levey had one person stand near a mockingbird nest and touch it, while other people avoided the nest. Later on, the mockingbirds recognized the intruder and attacked him, while ignoring the other people"

---

Chapter one. And I watched.

"_I watched thee when the foe was at our side, ready to strike at him, or thee and me, were safety hopeless rather than divide, aught with one loved, save love and liberty."_

Lord Byron

---

I watched from above and from below, from the darkest shadows that were wailing and weeping. I watched the steps he made and the paths he took, from a distant future, reminiscent and radiant. I watched his every move and I judged, merciless and adamant. I stood. I watched, I took, I touched and I loved. For I was the watcher, the grim shade that followed like him like his past and the nightmares that haunted his subconscious mind.

He was skinnier than the last time I saw him, slimmer, yet at the same time, he was carrying a gloomy weight on his shoulders. The strength in his eyes had dimmed, the thin, bright and shimmering layer over his orbs gone, his eyes hidden behind protective shields of fear and his steps undetermined and unsure. Hesitatingly. Despondent and disconsolate.

Oh, how I wished I could have been there. I wished I could have held him in my arms; tell him it was going to be all right. I wanted to let him fall asleep in my guarding arms and watch over him as his dreams fogged his unsteady mind. I would have kept him save from the dark and the shadows, be his abstruse and indomitable, be right next to him when his night terrors claimed his restless sleep and hold him again, close and deep inside. And if they would come, the dreams, the terrors attached to disconcerted sweat, I would listen to his soft cries and watch his pain-riddled face. I would let him suffer, for that was the only way to conquer.

If only I could have laid my hands on the man that got to him. The Reaper. A cruel and avid name for such a ghost. I wish I could deal with him, but my duties laid with him. A simple bullet, that was all he needed to get under his skin and into his mind. I had been watching for weeks, planning and living in antagonizing desire and he disrupted everything with a simple bullet. Oh, how I wished.

If only I could have been the one that took him like that, control him like a puppet, take his life. I would not only have taken his life, I would have taken his soul and delivered it right to the gates of hell. I would have been that messenger, that carrier. That soul taker and soul bringer. I would have been that Angel of Death. Cruel, ruthless and unyielding like the knife of a butcher. Aaron Hotchner beat me too it, a small wave of disappointment was traced back inside my head, but the surroundings of his death were more than satisfying. He got what he deserved, they all and always did. After all, we were mere drivers in a car that was spinning out of control, speeding too fast for the world and eventually, we would crash. We would. Because that's the way it worked. And I would drive the car and spin it out of control until I no longer understood what was left and what was right, up or down.

I would. For him.

He used to have this unidentified spark in his eyes, this small and weird security of confidence and boldness. Independence. He had that untouchable, unshakeable, comfortable aura surrounding his muscular and tender body. He just looked so damn unbreakable, I wished I could break right there him, just by twitching my head, like a twig or a tooth pick. I wanted to own this man, master him, overcome, overpower and overwhelm him. I wanted his strong shoulders to hang in desolation. I wanted him to long for my embrace, our relationship recondite and esoteric. Only we would understand, only we would feel it, reciprocal, down in the dark abyss of our hearts, because we already felt it. We belonged to each other, like yin and yang. He was too autonomous and sovereign. It was wrong and inimical. Things would have to change for us to be together.

I saw him fall. And I felt like I had fallen myself. I saw him break and I felt it in my own soul. I saw him tumble down into the depths of this nowhere without boundaries. I saw him fall onto his knees and he bowed his head. I felt humiliated. This was not the deity man I had watched, these were his remains. I was gingerliness, ambivalence raging through my body, unsettling my mind. He had fallen, like Icarus, wanting to much, seeing so many, flying to high. When his body hit the ground, crumbled and broken, useless like waste. Was I the one to help him up, restore his pride. I felt him, deep, deep inside my inner me. I had to. I must. He was mine. Soon.

But I no. Wait. I cannot. I must not. I had to wait.

Long, lonely and solemn hours I spent hiding in the shades of the night, peering into his apartment, watching everything he did. Short, joyful moments I earned when the break of dawn woke him up, sunlight permeated his apartment. I loved it when he woke up. A new day, new start. My stomach tingled with excitement as I waited to study his half naked body recalled the memories that plagued his mind and made him shatter like a mirror.

My fingers itched unbearably, I could not take it. I had to restrain myself from going to him and fulfil my darkest, deepest, most morbid and such sweetest dreams. Oh, I longed for him. Those dreams haunted me, even while wide awake. I came so close to losing it, too close. And I had paid the prize for that. But I couldn't resist, he was so close to me, I could smell him. I could have touched him. I used all the will I had to keep my hands where they were in order not to take him right then and there, white-hot pain and vehement anger rushing over my body, a bitter taste in my mouth, my limbs shaking, profound desire cutting into my heart, deep hurt down to my bone marrow.

If only you knew, what I wanted to do to him.

I would make him beg, for me, for mercy, for life. I would make him scream in agonizing, blinding pain, making him mine and have him conquer his worst demons. I would rid him of sins and cleanse him, make him whole again. Complete him. I would have saved him, just in time, before the Doomed took him, extending their claws to hold him down, sinking their teeth into his flesh, breaking his bones, tearing him apart like hell hounds.

I could taste his blood in my mouth. I could picture those lips onto mine so perfectly; it was profuse reality in my mind. I could scratch my nails over his attractive body, make him mine. I would be able to feel him, actually touch him. I would embody his desperate cries, like prayers on Sunday, the repercussion of the sing-song lessons throughout the church, and carve them into my soul. I would mark him, own him. For I already did. I would take him. Love him. Redeem him. Love him more.

And then I would kill him, and leave him. For I loved him. And I died him. Radiantly in the insetting morning dew, vibrant and faint. I was waiting, I would strike when the moment and the time was right. It was all I needed. The right moment and the right time. It was all a killer needed. It was all I needed.

And I watched.


	2. And I touched

Chapter two. And I touched.

"_How I wish I could surrender my soul; Shed the clothes that become my skin; See the liar that burns within my needing. How I wish I'd chosen darkness from cold. How I wish I had screamed out loud,  
Instead I've found no meaning. I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain, all pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble. Hides my true shape, like Dorian Gray. I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble. It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain."_

James Blunt.

---

There was something moving deep inside of me, a monster, a beast, trying to claw its way out of my body. It was like a huge beetle had nestled inside my head and was kicking and tickling and itching to get out. My entire body ached and I scratched and scratched until my skin bleed bright and red. But it wouldn't stop. It was excruciating, as if I was on fire and the flames nibbled at my flesh, nerves teased and teased until it would drive me insane. A thin, veneer layer of restlessness was wrapped around my feature, suffocating me, wound up tighter and tighter, like a cocoon, and there was nothing I could do.

The beast wouldn't stop. It was hungry – I was hungry and I needed to satisfy that hunger soon or I would die.

And so I found myself in the dark night, glooming stars in the sky trying to brighten the deep black abyss above our heads, but to no effort. Rain softly fell from that same sky and gently caressed my skin. I loved this weather. The wind was calm and comforting, blowing just hard enough to cast a dejected, awkward shade over the neighbourhood. The rain was good too, coming down with just enough strength to wet the pavements, but not to leave much puddles of water, nor soak me. It drizzled down, not like a layer of moisture coming down, like a blanket falling over your head, because that would make you drown in underestimation and you always end up drenched, but infinite drops of water, still separated from the other drops.

As I said. I loved this weather.

It provided me enough cover not to be seen, but it was not dark enough to blind myself. The darkness folded around my body like a baby blanket, soft and smooth and I could move freely as if swimming. I could easily watch him from the rooftop I stood on. Cigarette butts laid on the cement floor like paper snippets did during carnival. Smoking seemed to ease my mind. Kept me busy, occupied. It gave my fingers something to do so the tingling would fade, keep control over the sensation, the lust, the desire and the urge.

The figure I was watching, was restlessly pacing around in his apartment. He couldn't sit still for a minute, constantly trying to fill up great his mind as if he was carrying a heavy burden and the rollercoaster of thoughts was raging through his head. Perhaps I was that burden, as I finally let the world know I existed. And how. The look on his face was priceless and satisfying, burnt onto my brain and easily recalled to endure the rush of ecstatic, vigorous achievement.

I only noticed the satisfied smirk around my lips once I raised my hand to bring to butt of my burning cigarette to my mouth again. Mentally, I curse myself. I did not have the time to enjoy, nor could I afford a moment to take pleasure from what I had done. But boy, I could still feel it. The touch of his skin against my ice-cold fingers is one I relive in my dreams. I almost died once I was finally able to feel what I had been hunting. The feeling went beyond my wildest expectations, it felt so good. Smooth and soft, soothing and perfectly flowing, practically scar-free. A shock of energy pulsed through my body when I thought about it and almost, _almost, _I felt satisfied enough.

But no, they just had to ruin it. They just had to disrupt my plans, bring chaos into my well organized structure of destruction. They were smarter than I thought. I read me better than I thought. I guess you could say that I underestimated them. And they profiled me, while I left so little of myself behind, I didn't even contact _him_, yet. How did they figure it out? And how did their minds let them to those thoughts so fast? I know I underestimated them, but this, it was almost if they knew - he knew - that I was watching him. Had he felt the shivers roll down his spine whenever my eyes studiously burnt holes in him? Had he felt the eyes of a hawk gazing down upon him? Had he silently heard the reverberating echoes of my footsteps when I followed him around?

There was one thing though, one thing that they hadn't figured out up to this point. They didn't know everything yet. There was much more for them left to learn, to discover. I still held the master card. I softly chuckled when remembering doctor Reid's face when he heard the news. He hadn't known. And the mixture of fascination and shock on his face was just pure bliss for me.

He just sat there in his chair with his long fingers on the sides and his thin legs in front of him, feet on the ground. I counted the seconds he sat there, motionless and still, thirty-nine, before he moved. He moved his jaw, trying to say something but he was speechless. And the stern, concerned almost scared look on Hotchner's face – yes, the beast calmed down.

But once my brain kicked in again and registered what my eyes were seeing, it began again. Lurking, crawling, scratching, growling. The sight in front of me was an emotional peak of excitement. To me, and I think many other women, this sight was heaven. Somewhere during the hours I stood watching him and I wondered off into my crestfallen thoughts, he had gone to bed. Automatically, my feet took me down the all too familiar path and I stood, a mere foot away from my obsession. My love.

My fingers tingled and I drummed them in the air. If I could, I would have jumped up and down, screaming in excitement, dancing around the room, screaming and singing. But I remained silent, kept cool and composed, and soothingly made my way over to him.

I closed my eyes the moment my fingers touch his skin. I caressed him lightly, but it was enough for me. His bare chest went up and down in steady pace, his fine muscles applying to his demands. Carefully, I bent forward close enough to smell him. It was a deep aroma of coffee and Calvin Klein and it filled my nostrils warm and welcome. The scent was burnt into my memories, as the touch of his skin was and I realized that this was it. It was enough for today, tonight. Time to return to my home and wait. Wait till the time was right.

I turned, walked past his dog that shortly looked up and wiggled his tail in recognition, and made my way to his paper covered desk. It amazed me that he could sleep with all the things that he had going on in his mind. He used to be so much more peaceful, unclouded. Soundlessly, I grabbed his paper notebook and fished up a pen from under the rubble. Another smile formed around my lips as I wrote my message. Hotchner's profile had been right, or at least I made sure it was right, '_The UnSub will contact you soon_.'

I was playing a game, and they were all playing along. In the morning, agent Derek Morgan would wake up and find the windows of his apartment wide open, a cup of cold coffee and a picture of himself, asleep, in his own room, in his own house, next to the note I left him.

They were exceeding my expectations. This was going better that I thought. If I could keep that beast tamed, we could dance around like this for a while. A white-hot, fire-y, passionate tango.

But for now, it was time to rest. After all, I made my move. It was their turn to move the piece now.

---

A cold, harsh blowing wind woke Derek Morgan up in the early morning. Drowsy, he looked around his bedroom and his dark eyes fixed on the open window. He narrowed his eyes when he tried to remember if he closed the window.

Clooney, his dog, barked once he saw that his boss was awake and hoped for an early walk through the park. Derek's eyes noticed the dog and then widened when seeing another open window. Within seconds, he had grabbed his gun and moved out of the bed, aiming at the living room. In the back of his head he figured however was in his house was long gone.

Nevertheless, he searched his apartment barefoot, in every room, corner, behind every curtain, closet and under every couch, chair and his bed, but only to find nobody there. When his mind was a little at ease knowing whoever was in his apartment, wasn't there anymore, he took the time to pay attention to the scenery the perp had left for him on his table.

It was a cold cup of coffee from the coffee shop he always bought his coffee. As if this didn't bother him enough, he grabbed the picture. He saw himself laying in bed, sleeping, the television on. He recognized the program it was on; it was a documentary about undercover work for the police department. He registered the thought that it might be of some significance when he spotted the note and forceful, jabbing shivers ran over his porcelain-smooth skin. It was from over a month ago.

It took him again, just a short period of time to grab his phone and dial a too well known number.

"Hotch. It's Morgan. The perp's been here."

"_What? Where?"_

"In my house."

"_Are you all right?"_

"Yeah. I'm fine. The bastard left a cold cup of coffee, a picture and a note."

"_That means we're on the right track with the profile, he's contacting you. What's on the note?"_

"We do not die because we have to die; we die because one day, and not so long ago, our consciousness was forced to deem it necessary."

"_Antonin Artaud. I'm coming to you know. Call the rest of the team."_

Sighing and doomed with a weary mind, Derek closed his phone after his supervisor had hung up.

From a distance, I brought my cigarette to my mouth, inhaling the intoxicating smoke and letting it fill my lungs. From over the glowing, burning red tip, I watched him crumble down. His clouded mind turned into a thunderstorm and I knew I was close. The pawns were on the move, the play had just begun.

Check.


	3. And I took

Chapter three. And I took.

"_She says "wake up, it's no use pretending". I'll keep stealing, breathing her. Birds are leaving over autumn's ending. One of us will die inside these arms. Eyes wide open, naked as we came. One will spread our ashes 'round the yard."_  
Iron & Wine

---

I tried to remain seated as quietly and silently as I could, but my feet kept bouncing up and down as I let my thoughts go over the plan of this evening again and again, over and over. I knew it was good and I had planned it well. Why I kept going over and over it time after time, I didn't know. Perhaps it was the anxiety, the excitement. Perhaps it was stress, I had never dealt with an FBI agent before. They were a lot more different than the usual men I watched before. But I hadn't been able to resist. He challenged me, pushed me to get to him. He was begging, his unheard cries kept me up at night.

In the radiant, foggy night, I heard the ticking of my watch echo throughout the apartment. It was different than I thought. It seemed as if his personality was put into this house for it was just as moody and austere as his demeanour. What had happened to that man that he became so emotionless?

I put that thought aside as Aaron Hotchner stirred in his troubled sleep. The grey smoke circled in the air before I moved the cigarette closer and inhaled deeply. Some ash fell down into the darkness, consumed by it. Through the window I had opened, a soft breeze entered and disturbed the circles of the dancing smoke.

For hours, I had been sitting here, just watching his gentle face grimace as nightmares chased him in his dreams. His brows knitted into a frown again and I decided it was enough. I had work to do. In the ashtray next to me, I put the cigarette down and stood up, careful not to make a sound.

The blue, plastic bags around shoes made muffled, slightly scratching sounds as I moved across the bedroom. They could have my fingerprints. They might find it somewhere. They only thing partially erased rings on my fingers would lead them to, was that I was in the system as a suspect on seven different cases, all just like these. But it could take them weeks before they found the connection and they would not find a name, nothing. I didn't, however, wanted them to find out where I had been as CSI carefully collected the sand and dirt that came from under my shoes. Cautiously, I leant forward and my lips barely made contact with Aaron's forehead. He twitched his head slightly, but continued sleeping. I left his present on the nightstand. With a small smile, I turned and left, welcoming the dark night as I had wished for, ready to do what I was ready for.

---

I had to control not only my thoughts, but also my movements. My breathing was so quick, rapid, feverishly, I was afraid I might betray myself by acting so tense. I blended in the night, wearing a long grey coat and hiding most of my face behind a large black scarf and under a baseball cap. I held onto my fastened pace as I approached my destiny, the beast inside me growing more excited with each step, growling in my stomach, his claws ripping my insides apart. He was like a butterfly, the calm before the storm, fluttering around in my belly, slowly driving me insane as the wings of the insect were just a mere blur.

An elderly couple passed me by, obviously wary about my presence and my looks. I waited until they turned around the corner before I halted and looked up. His apartment was dark. Perfect. In the alley behind his apartment building, I found the dumpster I had used numerous times to reach the fire escape and elegantly climbed my way into the rather expensive looking building. The hallway seemed endless as I walked through it with caution. I hated the green wallpaper they used and it seemed to come right after me, chasing me, coming down on me. Passing by the doors, I could hear several sounds coming from behind them. I cut the corner, I was so close.

I stopped right in front of number two-oh-one and restrained myself from opening the door. With my hand already on the doorknob, I closed my eyes and pulled myself together. Now was not the time for mistakes or failure. My other hand shook uncontrollably and I realized my breathing was irregular. This was not right. I heard the beast inside my head screaming in agonizing pain as I understood what I needed to do. The beast protested and crawled around inside my body, making my skin itch beyond believes, but I needed to calm down, be precise. I couldn't afford any errors, not now, not when I was got so close.

I wore the key to his apartment on a leather shoe string around my neck, and I grabbed it to open the door. The dog, Clooney, responded to the opening of the front door, and came to meet me. It had taken me quite some time before he had gotten used to me. At first, when he saw me through the window, he started barking. Yet the animal had been approaching me every time I saw him in the park and he had gotten used to my smell, my presence.

Animals are so easily persuaded. No wonder people think we're closer to them than we think. People are just like that as well. It's pathetic. I feel almost ashamed that I am human too. They're all fools, stupid, mindless robots, living from one day to the other, those days filled with work, money, sex and power. When had this happened? Or was it just the 'city-life'? I know where I came from, we celebrated each day. We lived outside, enjoying nature, swimming in the river, eating from the forest. It was a time when we knew our neighbours and they knew us. A time where people talked in the village about the things that happened 'outside'. When there was trouble, everybody would help, whether it was fixing a house, helping harvest the fruit or helping a neighbour or villager. Those times, it was all so different.

I wore a scorn around my lips as I returned to the present. Focus, keep your mind sharp and steady. There were things to be done and those things required my utter attention. I was so close, I couldn't mess it up. He would be the perfect asset to my list. His apartment was dimmed and iniquitous, I could smell the aroma of his dark roasted coffee and the scent of the shampoo he used when he showered earlier. I stood in the middle of his living room and I just took in everything I heard and smelled. Closing my eyes, I let everything be imprinted into my brain.

For a moment, I was fulfilled with ecstasy, rapturous delight. I was entering my euphoria, God was pleased with my work and he granted me this divinity.

"Go, heavenly guest, ethereal messenger. Sixteen-sixty-seven, Milton, Paradise Lost, book VII."

I tried to remember everything, every feeling I had in my body, everything I sensed in my surroundings. I inhaled strongly and tilted my head back. When I released the air in my lungs, I opened my eyes again and stared right at the image I had seen in my dreams regularly. I had been on a quest and fulfilled it. This was my prize. This was an almost chimerical gift that I had deserved. All this hard work, the hours of research, trailing him, watching his movements, getting to know him by just observing him. Just like he did. I became him, for that was my journey. My destination, lay before me. Sleeping.

Funny, how nervous and trembling I was before, how utterly calm and controlled I was now. It was as if his presence soothed and eased my mind, calming me down. Not many people had that sort of power over me. Still, I loved how he made me feel. I lured Clooney into his bathroom and locked the door, I didn't need the dog to possibly interrupt my evening. My leather gloved fingers touched the numbered locks on the small safe Derek kept his gun in. Easily, I turned the small wheels, white numbers making a code, until a soft 'click' started my plans for that night. That soft click, invited me to do what I had been dreaming of for so long.

I straddled his gorgeous body, his muscles adjusted to the weight of my body. He woke up with a shock, his hand immediately raised in defence when his mind registered what his eyes were seeing. I pulled the safety pin of his own gun as the mouth pointed to the man underneath me. The racking sound echoed through his apartment and filled my ears.

The pleasure I craved from this moment was almost too much. I nearly lost it.

His eyes found mine as his brain finally kicked in. I loved how his eyes fluttered wide and open as he looked at me. I could feel his heart missing a beat and his breath caught in his throat. The fear masked by insecurity was written all over his face. A vigorous rush pulsed through my body like drugs did on a junkie. I was that junkie, I was addicted to him and I needed him to ease my pain.

Though this all almost blew my mind with excitement, I kept calm and cool. I was cold.

"Hello Derek."

I felt the pace of his breath speed up and his heart beat faster. Adrenaline spread through my veins. My eyes witnessed his reaction when he realised I knew his name. The ever-so-magnificent clockwork that was hidden behind his angelic, charismatic, charming face started racing. Oh, he was so beautiful, this deity God. And then again, he was mean and sharp, quick and hard like a truck that hit you when it came from the alley on your right; already reading me, profiling me, calculating.

I waited patiently. The smile around my lips must have sent him in the right direction. And he remained silent as realization hit his thoughts.

Their profile had been wrong.

I was no outsider, some woman that laid her eyes on him and fell in love. I was not chaotically composed, nor was I sadistic. I didn't lose something or someone recently, that had set me off, started the ticking of the bomb. I had no previous record, never been to jail. I wasn't a control freak nor did I have a low ranked job, which caused stress and left me unsatisfied. I didn't think I was better than everybody else, I wasn't sitting on some throne. Oh, they had been wrong about so many things.

I was planned, organized, disciplined and strict. No time for emotions, no messing around. I did what I had to do and that was the end of the story. I did my work thoroughly and perfect. I cleaned up after myself well, I have quite some experience with law enforcement; I knew how they worked. I was intelligent, intellectual and properly educated. I knew I was better than everybody else, I didn't think it. I had a high ranked job, got a lot of satisfaction from it, but I quit six months ago – I wasn't fired.

They were right about a couple of things though. I loved to watch, I planned well. I liked control, though I wasn't a control freak. But most of all, I like to pull the strings of the puppet I made. I like what I was creating. Though I did not crave any sexual pleasure from it. I was striving towards a goal they said I didn't know yet. But I knew my goal.

Derek Morgan was soon going to find out what my true, real goal was. I cocked my head to the right and I observed him. I waited. I watched.

"What do you want?"

"So much determination in your voice, Derek, so strong and confident."

"Who are you?"

"You can call me Nobody."

"Who are you really?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

I chuckled. Derek's eyes never lost contact with him and I saw him searching for a gap a way to get into my head. His former mentor, Jason Gideon, always used to say that they held the strongest weapon; their profile. But Derek knew that their profile had held its huge lacunas. He could look me dead in the eye, see the emotionless shell and the thick, strong, impenetrable shields and I knew. I could see it.

Fear.

He was exactly where I wanted him to be.

I had waited. I had watched.

And I took.


	4. And I loved

Chapter four: And I loved.

"_Coercing or leaving, shutting down and punishing, running from rooms, defending, withholding, justifying. These versions of violence, sometimes subtle sometimes clear, and the ones that go unnoticed, still leave their mark once disappeared. Diagnosing, analyzing, unsolicited advice, explaining and controlling, judging opining and meddling"_

Alanis Morissette

---

The air was moist with the freshly fallen rain. A chilly wind softly blew through the streets as they were deserted and dark. A few last clouds lingered after releasing their water down on earth and vaporised, but behind them, bright starts sparkled in the sky as headlights on a highway where dears crossed and were run over. I felt as if I had travelled a long road and finally reached my destination. I felt like I had completed something I had wanted to do for a long time. I felt like I just conquered my worst fear. I felt as if I just had completed my pilgrimage.

Satisfactory ran through my veins and I carved a deep sense of complacency.

I closed my eyes and pictured the events in my head. I had studied them well enough to know what they would say, do, how they would act. While they were profiling me, I had been profiling them. They were so blind, so foolish to believe that they would be safe behind the thick walls they had created, the church they had built for themselves. Little did they know that I had entered their church, I was playing in their sandbox. I was all so masterly planned, I exceeded my own expectations. I was proud of myself and my accomplishment. I was the devil, dancing under their noses, poking them with my fork and they thought they had waved me away like an annoying fly. They were such fools; I was sitting on their shoulders.

Aaron Hotchner would wake up to find all the windows in his cold, dark and stark apartment open. He would shoot up from his bed, immediately searching his surroundings for the intruder. He would move over to the left side of his bed and press the buttons to grab his gun. He would carefully and thoroughly search his apartment, but only to find it just as solemn and deserted as it used to be. No Haley, no Jack, no perp. Nothing. Alarm bells would ring in his head as he added up the numbers. It was me that enjoyed visiting him in his own home. What else had I done?

Next, he would spot the present I left him. He would walk towards it, switching on a light to see it better. Then he would reach for his phone faster than he reached for his gun minutes before to call a person that wouldn't answer. Because he was sitting in front of me, unconscious, and his hands cuffed behind the wooden chair he was sitting on.

I was watching him and waiting until he would regain consciousness. I took him out and now he was sitting there, his head down, like a sorry pile of bones that could barely pass as human, dressed in only his boxers and a white shirt. I wished he would wake up, regain his famous tough- and hard-ass composure. Be the steady rock. Only then would I be able to admire his strong, fierce arms. Then I would be able to admire his muscular, long legs. And only then would I be able to worship his handsome, aristocratic, elegant face. I raised the cigarette to my lips, the smoke entering my body like welcomed intruders, intoxicating my brain.

The man in front of me seemed extremely at ease. His body showed no signs of stress. His shoulders hung loosely next to him, his strong, muscled arms never fought the metal cuffs around his wrists. I saw the blood on the side of his head and I wondered for a moment if I had hit him too hard.

My concerns were quickly forgotten once he stirred and raised his head slightly. Derek Morgan was waking up.

From where I sat in the dark, I could see him winch once he started to wake up. He grunted slightly and opened his eyes. Slowly, he raised his head and straightened himself.

"Good morning Derek."

His head shot to the corner where the sound of my voice came from, squinting to catch a glimpse of me, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. I decided to make it easy for him and stepped forward, into the light. From the side of the room, I grabbed another chair and positioned it in front of him, calmly and coolly sitting down.

His eyes never left me.

"How's your head?"

"I'll live."

Derek's eyes shot fire and if looks could kill, I'd be dead before I hit the ground. I smiled. And he saw me smile and I could read the confusion of his face.

"Who are you?"

"I told you, I'm Nobody."

"What do you want?"

I took another pull from my cigarette, inhaling as I stood up and sat down in his lap. Almost disgusted, Derek learnt as far away from me as he possible could. I blew out the smoke, covering his beautiful, strong lined face in a transparent grey filter.

"What do I want?"

Derek's eyes shortly lowered themselves and looked at my bare chest, noticing the small cross I wore.

"That's a good question. But I think the question is 'What do I want from you?'"

"Okay. So what do you want from me?"

I bent forward, my face inches away from his. I had thrown the cigarette aside, leaving it to produce dancing smoke in the dark room. I ran my hands over his chest, stopping halfway. Derek tried to move away from my face, but I was too close. He could only look right at me.

"I want you, Derek Morgan. You, and only you."

"Why?"

His voice was still strong, but behind it; hesitating and fragile. I pressed my body closer to his, feeling his hard body against mine. He was breathing quickly, perhaps he was a bit frightened. Already.

"Because I can. Don't you see Derek, you're behaviour is what got you into trouble. You stood out. You believe in God. I believe God led me to you, because you had to be so damn irresistible. And I want you to scream, I want you to bleed, to sweat and to wimp, and to break in front of my eyes."

His breath was hot on my skin and it tickled my senses. I could smell him, his scent mixed with smoke. I could look him right into his eyes, right into his soul and see everything. His lips formed a thin, angry line on his face. His dark, abyss-like orbs burnt holes in my head as they devoured me.

Chuckling, I leant back again and reached into my pocket for another cigarette. From over the flame of the silver Zippo I used, I looked at him. I could tell that he was observing me, despite the anxiety inside his body and the fear that slowly crept under his thick walls, he could still observe, think, watch, profile.

"Do it."

I exhaled and smoke escaped my mouth. I crossed my arm against my chest, the other raised with the cigarette between my index and middle finger.

"Do what?"

Again, his voice was soft, but more confident now, anger slowly bottling up inside him.

"Profile me."

"Why?"

"Because it's fun."

Subconsciously, Derek took a good breath. His eyes flashed over my body, shortly, briefly, his brain probably reading, thinking and calculating. He looked back up at my face and met my eyes once again.

By this simple act, I could tell that I had him.

"Mid-twenties. Intellectual. Intelligent. You use fancy language, so you're highly educated. You like control, you're organized and neat, almost a perfectionist. You're calm, which means that you have control of the situation, you planned. You're a hyper vigilance. You took the time and you did your homework. Yet you only got me cuffed to a chair, you're not sadistic, you would have made your move already. You know how to handle a gun, you've been able to get away with it this far, so you probably have experience with law enforcement and or forensics."

"And you got all that out of my letters?"

"We did."

"That's pretty clever. Isn't it?"

Derek closed his mouth and stiffened his jaw, almost as if he was daring me. I smiled wickedly, this was just too easy. He was already defying me, challenging me. He went through the phase of questions and confusion like a speeding bullet.

"Oh, c'mon Derek! Light up a little already! Admire your own work, treasure it. Not many people are able to maintain the composition of their life with a sick, slick, fascinating mind like yours. I wonder what doctor Reid would be like. Imagine him, sitting here. Would he be spurting out facts? Or agent Hotchner, I would have loved to get my hands on him. But now, you, you are perfect. You're the golden crown on my already shiny, honoured establishment."

He looked unbreakable, untouchable, in the way he sat there with his head tilted back, his deep brown eyes staring into mine. For a moment, I wished I could skip all the phases and jump to the last one. My hands were itching, my fingertips aching, my soul desperately longing to touch him. To break him. To love him.

"What do you want?"

I leant closer to him while I inhaled again, smoke circling around my lips like predators did with their prey. I could feel his warm breath on my skin again and I had to resist the urge to shiver as excitement rolled over my back.

"What do you want, Derek?"

"I want you to let me go."

"But that's no fun."

"Define fun."

"Fun is something that you grave pleasure from. What do you grave pleasure from, Derek? From all those pointless, useless women that add no meaning to your life? From chasing and taking down killers? From looking into the eyes of a murderer, knowing that because of you, he will never hurt anyone again?"

I ran my nails up his neck, scratching his skin as both my hands were placed on the sides of his head, my nails digging into his skin as I whispered into his ear.

"Are you that arrogant? Are you? Do you really believe you make a difference? Because Ted Bundy is locked up, it doesn't mean that others don't exist. It's nature, Derek, the weak will fall and the strong will survive. I survived, but I'm not strong. I'm smart and I'm merely a pawn in such a bigger play. A play that your little mind can't even grasp at. You're all fools. You only clear the way for those that have more morbid dreams, more hauntingly idea's, more abhorrent quests to fulfil. We are the elite. And you can't stop the elite. They will crush and conquer like the Greek did in Troy. We're barbarian, monsters."

He filled his nostrils with air, slightly polluted by the smoke. Derek shifted his position, he sunk down a little, forcing my body closer to his as my hips buckled slightly. His perfect looking lips were even closer and the luring lust inside my body was awoken.

"Is that what you want? Huh? You love power, sex. You're addicted to it. Does it make you feel alive, huh? Does it make you weak in the legs, make your body tingle with excitement?"

Derek raised his eyebrows slightly when he asked the questions. I could tell that he was starting to get fed up with me. Who could blame him? He leant closer, his eyes still trying to scorch their way into my head. We were playing a game. Trouble was, I knew that game. I invented it. He believed he knew the game, but he didn't. Because he – they – didn't know me.

I had been annoying him for the past days, breaking into his apartment, watching him sleep, sending letters, leaving pictures and drawings of him. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Because their profile had been wrong, they had been wrong about me. I had all the freedom to play in their sandbox and I let them know it. I got close to him. Too close. I entered his personal space, crawled under his heavy defences and left him wide open. I was smarter than they thought, better. I had been watching them, studying them like they were my science project. I had seen his every move and it shattered his defence towards me.

"We will get you. We'll hunt you down until you have nowhere to run to, no place to hide and we will get you. Want to know why?"

"Enlighten me, Derek." I took another pull from my cigarette, enjoying every waking second.

"Because you can't live without it. You need this power to feel in control of your own life. You need this to love yourself because no one ever loved you before. That's the reason why you're parents never loved you, why they were disgusted by your sight and your presence. You need to kill because you're sick. You're a sick, egocentric stupid-"

"Now, now, Derek." I shifted my weight and talk to him in a teaching, calming yet deeply amused tone of voice. "No need to be calling names, now, eh? Because… You see, it's really not what you think."

There it was. The dam was breaking and soon the flow would come. I got to him.

"My parents were good people, they tried to raise me well, make the best of it. But little did they know they were raising their own little, twisted version of a psychopath. They loved me, Derek, oh they loved me already. But love, like everything else, is an emotion. And I feel no emotions. So no matter how hard they tried, it didn't work."

I leant forward and whispered in his ear. "They loved me up till the point that I killed them."

His eyes were piercing and fierce, I could see the anger built up behind them. It was pure beauty, to watch this man reach such a stage of rage, knowing that he could do nothing. He was powerless. Why? Because I had planned well, and I got to him. I had reached the finish line, I could see him shatter behind his powerful eyes. Slowly, real slowly, his ardent expression fell. And there wasn't anything left. He was breathing quickly and rapid, out of control. As I chuckled, I could see it. He was right where I wanted him. Finally.

There were an unspoken binding between us, a connection, tension. I had seen him watch my body. There was a mutual attraction between the two of us. I knew it. As did he. It was a sickening heartache, electricity in my stomach. As his breathing became faster, I realized it was not of fear or anger, but because of lust. The rattling of the cuffs around his wrists was not because he was trying to find a way out, it was because his fingers tickled with the sensation of my body being so close to him. And when I moved closer to him, placing my hands around his neck, he turned his face away, not in disgust, but to restrain himself from losing it.

"I'm not here to kill you Derek. Just look at me."

My cold voice must have penetrated his mind, is must have sounded demanding enough, for he turned to look at me, our lips separated by just a bit of air. He was surrendering. There was no way out of this maze that I had created. He could only give me what I wanted and I would release him from the agony, I would ease the pain.

Derek's eyes were less angry and fierce, they were softer and weaker. I pushed all the weight of my body against him, buckled my hips against his groin, I heard him groan quietly and softly and he closed his eyes, muscles around it tensing up. I didn't know it happened because of anger or sadness. My lips were brushing against his, but still he hadn't made a move.

"Surrender. I know you want to. Surrender, Derek Morgan."

My whisper was barely audible, but I knew he heard me. He opened his eyes momentarily and then closed them again to reach out to my lips. Seconds passed as I just felt his lips softly pressed against mine. As if a switch was turned, I brought my hands to his face and hungrily replied.

This mutual attraction was too much to handle, for it was indescribable.

Our tongues quickly found themselves, dancing and circling around in our mouths. Derek was breathing heavily and I knew he was reaching his breaking point. I had him right where I wanted, and only after two hours. This was going better than I imagined. F.B.I. agents were so predictable. The cuffs around his hands cried out desperately as he tried to break free. The sound was awful, pathetic. Because his lips said otherwise and they never stopped kissing mine.

My hands slid down his neck towards the hem of his shirt. With one swift and moderate pull, I tore the fabric apart and pushed it aside, running my hands over his delicious body, his fine abs, the sensuous muscles. Just as quick and perfectly as I had torn his shirt, I grabbed the hunting knife that was tucked behind the belt I wore around my jeans. With one swift and elegant pull, following no distinct pattern, I carved into his chest, leaving behind a bloody, deep cut on the length of his torso.

Derek gasped in agony and clenched his teeth, immediately turning his face away from me. I looked at my masterpiece and lifted the knife again. On the left side of his chest, I cut a small heart that connected with the earlier cut, cutting a heart-balloon on his admiring chest.

The cut was deep but not life threatening. Just enough to leave a mark. Just as I liked it.

Derek shortly looked at the blood that ran down his middle and then up at me.

"So you won't forget me."

"I won't. "

I laughed at his comment, watched his angry face.

"No, you won't. But others will. Others will forget, people around you, people that you care about. They will all forget. Then again, are you willing to tell the truth, Derek? Are you willing to voluntarily tell people what just happened? You surrendered, you're weak. Did you really fight your way out of Chicago for this? To be such a foolish coward?"

He remained silent so I leant forward again and whispered into his ear, like I was telling him a secret nobody else was allowed to hear or to know.

"That's what I thought. See, Derek, the thing is, I don't exist. I am Nobody. Who watched Derek Morgan? Nobody. Who touched Derek Morgan? Nobody. Who took Derek Morgan? Nobody. And who loved Derek Morgan?"

Finally, the pieces of the puzzle fell and realization hit his mind.

"Nobody."

"Exactly. Yet I will be there, every step of the way. You will see me in every girl that looks at you. You will feel me in every girl you touch, every girl you kiss and every girl you fuck. I will be there in your dreams and I will. Wait. For you."

I lit another smoke and lifted myself from his body. Questioningly, almost curiously, he looked up at me, followed the movements of my body. Quickly, I walked around him, silently and unnoticed gathering the cigarette butts. I bent forward and pecked him on the cheek, his head turning towards mine as I did it before I ran my hand over his head as if he was a kid.

"Goodbye Derek."

I opened the curtains and after that the window. An almost blinding light entered Derek's apartment and I looked at my watch. Aaron Hotchner would wake up right about now. I took a pull from the cigarette and glanced over at Derek to see his expression when he finally understood we were in his own apartment all along. Nobody had been in his house. That might as well be true, they would find no evidence.

Then I started walking, opened the door and turned around the corner. I never looked back over my shoulder. I just left.

Seven minutes after I left, Aaron, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid would storm into his apartment and find him cuffed to his chair in the middle of his apartment, a large cut across his chest. They would quickly let him lose and take him to the hospital. Derek would need twenty-one stitches but the doctors couldn't heal his biggest wounds. And so they would dry up and heal to become scars on his mind. And when Aaron asked him who did this to him, he could only reply.

"I don't know. Nobody. It was Nobody."

---

Years passed and I often think back. I often imagine him and picture him in my mind. I had been watching him for several weeks after our encounter. But then I had to let him go. He was my perfect project and he had been such a good study subject. I would check in on him, occasionally. Peep around the corner, so to speak. A wave of regret overcame me and I wondered why I never told him the truth.

I told him he would be alone, he would be the only one carrying these scars. I shattered him, broke his defences and made him vulnerable. I said nobody loved him. But that's not true. I cared.

And I loved.


	5. And we returned

Chapter five. And we returned.

"_To everything there's a season and a time to every purpose. The Earth spins at a thousand miles an hour as we desperately try to keep from being thrown off. Like the first blush of winter that signals a great migration, was there any warning of their arrival? A sign, a single event that set this chain into motion? Was it a whisper in God's ear? Survive, adapt, escape... And if we could mark that single moment in time? That first hint of the __prophecy of approaching danger...__ Would we have done anything differently? Could it have been stopped or was the die long ago cast? And if we could go back, alter its course, stop it from happening, would we? _

_For all his bluster, it is the sad province of Man that he cannot choose his triumph. He can only choose how he will stand when the call of destiny comes... hoping that he'll have the courage to answer."_

Tim Kring (Heroes)

---

Destruction. It always hit you harder than you imagined it to. It was the rain that came down on your head when in the morning, the weatherman told you the sun would shine. It was the sudden bang rebellious teenagers caused by setting off fireworks on December thirtieth that you didn't expect yet. It was the loud bark of the dog in the middle of the night that startlingly awakes you. It was the car that came from the side street, the street you missed while walking around with your headphones on. It did always hit harder than imagined. I liked to believe that it harder than intended, that it somehow, someway, didn't know its own strength. It was a stupid idea, but I didn't want to be drowning in the stupid rain in my good clothes. I didn't want to be scared by a stupid firecracker that was thrown by stupid teens that I should have scared away with my dark, grim glare already. I didn't want to be the person that got hit a by a stupid car because I was listening to my music while walking a deserted street and be crashed and crumbled by some stupid, blind driver.

---

They had tried to find me. They kept tabs on my names, my aliases, places I had been seen. They attempted to retrace each of my steps, but they found that there were long pauses in between, gaps that their feet couldn't fill. There still was no real identity. I had covered everything. They were left with the words of a haunted man, distant and emotionally as cold as the dead. He pretended, in the end, like they all did, otherwise they couldn't function and they would drown. He pretended to be fine, but eventually, he came home, his house as empty as the knowledge they had on me and the evidence as thin as the line he crossed between drunk and alcoholic.

Hotch was relentless, I knew that. He came close a couple of times, without him knowing it. He chased me all over America, and I loved imagining how he sat in his office, realising he had been chasing a ghost that lead him right towards a chase of his own tail.

For years, Derek Morgan lingered in my head. His eyes, his voice, his body, the touch of his skin and his soul. I moved out of Washington, it was too dangerous. If we would cross paths, I wouldn't know what to do. Would I ignore him, blissfully and arrogant, or would the fire be set again, passion and lust crawling over my back like rats, a disease re-settling back deep inside my body? Would I be able to constrain myself, keep my composure, or would I jump over the edge of the cliff again? And then there was him; what would he do? Would he recognize me? Would he remember me? Would he jump me, shoot me, kill me? Or would he ignore me, blissfully and denying, bending his gaze away?

I kept track of him, followed him like a shark, like a hawk, a vulture, circling around him, looking down as I used to. But the distance tore me apart. I could no longer observe him through his flat window. I could no longer see him go to bed and wake up by the crestfallen morning. I couldn't see the demons around his head eating him up, slowly, as if nagging at his conscious. He was over there and I was over here. The distance was too much, his scent slowly died, the feeling of his skin again my fingertips vaporized, his voice in my ears eradicated. He became a ghost, a faint presence of a past life. He was the crown on my work, the beauty of my final act. He was my sweet goodbye, bitter, sugar-candy sweet.

They all became objects to me. I tried not to look at them like that, but I couldn't help it. Whenever they would talk, they would spit and talk harshly and rude, loud. When they would smile, they stabbed my eyes and tore out my hair. When they would flirt, they would strangle me over and over again, being so exceptionally blunt and tasteless. And when they would look, they would harden my stoned skin even more, so hard that it started to hurt. I felt closed in, pushed in a coffin and left behind to live in a small, confined space. I had trouble breathing, days became too long, too tiring, too dreadful. Nothing meant a thing anymore, colours grew dull, music became a static rush, and everything turned grey. I became saintless. A cancer joyfully raged through my body, fearless and relentless. I would be free. Soon.

And so I decided, I had to return. I had to re-visit the man that made me feel alive, that made me who I was, intrinsically and abstruse, the one that painted my world. I wasn't in love with him, but I did love him, I died him and I lived him. He was like an angel and burnt my eyes. I needed him.

Long hours kept me up late at night, in the shadow-filled dark night, where piercing screams of long lost lovers failed to reach my ears, the echoes reverberating through grim and solemn places. I left a trail of deceptive, soulless monsters behind, changing everything I used to believe in, letting familiarity and similarity loose to fly on the wind like balloons in the sky. I left a trail, but I left nothing of myself behind. No mirror would see me, and if by chance they did, they would not recognize me. I was the devil in disguise and I was coming home; home to that man that needed to bring me to life again. Life was dull, full of agony and guilt-ridden, restless nights. Memoires of our last encounter haunted me like the inimical laughs of the clowns in children's sleep. I lied to him, I betrayed him, I tortured him up till this day with my words. I didn't mean to. He needed to understand, but I didn't want to cause him more pain. Revelation and realisation. They were just like destruction. They hit harder than expected.

Finally, the closer I got to home, to him, the beast inside of my started to stir. All those pointless lives I had taken during my journey had only put him to sleep deeper, farther away in his consciousness, gone like ashes of reminiscent love in the wind. But now, he stirred, he took a deep breath, and his eyes slowly opened. He was awakening. I was awakening. I was the apocalypse that was about to strike, omens everywhere yet nobody dared to look. Because if they would gaze briefly into the dark abyss that represented me, they would be swallowed by a whale, being the small organisms they were. I was God. I was almighty. I would rule and conquer for I was awakening. And I watched and I touched and I took and I loved. And I returned.

It was a calm morning. The wind was cool and gently towards my skin, a small, soft breeze caressing my cheeks as I hid my black eyes behind tainted sunglasses. The sunlight smoothly came down on my humble body, admiring and worshipping it. It was a beautiful morning, a perfect day. I could feel it deep down in my bones; this was it. Now was the time. I stood on the sidewalk, smoke polluted my lungs and anxious tension tightened my skin, sickening my stomach. I was on the rollercoaster, spinning upside down, flipping around, the world one big blur. I haven't been this excited since I saw him for the first time in my life and felt like I finally had a purpose. A meaning. A goal. He was it. He was everything.

An unset of rattling euphoria, this rapturous delight, this divinity, almost pushed my down onto my knees. There he was. On the other side of the street. Just like that. His sight caused tears to dwell up in my eyes, goose bumps ran freely over my body. 'So be free', God had said and I finally, truly, understood the meaning of the word 'free'. It was as if an ocean, a furious, wild ocean had been contained in a box inside my chest. The box locked, the key discarded. The monster that I was had been locked in there as well and I was drowning, over and over again, day after day. God had granted me absolute peace and serenity for my work and he broke the lock. Waves of ardent, vivid water crushed their way out of their containment, oblivious to everything around it. I could breath. And I did. I grasped for breath once. And it was pure and heavenly.

He looked good. Strong, his usual self, independent and confident and bold. Shades before his eyes to hide the world from what he knew and what he understood. Me. I could see it. His mind was scarred, his soul damaged, the deity Derek Morgan pretending to be standing, but secretly on his knees. I wondered if they saw it too, noticed the signs of anger, frustration, depression and misunderstanding. For I saw it, the signs, the words written down on the protective shields he had drawn. My heart beat started steadily slowing down, consistent and knowingly. This was all I needed. The heartache disappeared, taken by the angels. A warm, destiny-filled, radiant glow spread across my body. And it was then that he saw me.

I was still feeling avid and vigorous, ridden of these bounds that had shackled me to the dirty earth, but my face regained my hard, unfazed mien, powerful and prosaic. His took of his glasses, his lips parted slightly, his eyes all exposed and I could see right through. He didn't expect me here, or not yet, at least. It had been five years. Five long years without him to keep my heart beating. Without him to give me meaning. And now we were united. Finally. Derek took a step forward, closed his mouth and he just looked at me. There were no clenched fists, no teeth gritted together, no anger portraying his eyes. He was calm. Esoteric. Like me. Like us. I took of my sunglasses, slowly and controlled and looked at him one last time. Sun blinded my sight shortly once I laid my eyes upon him. It was everything I imagined, as heavenly and recondite and exquisite as God had told me.

It was all I needed for my last pilgrimage. Within a second, I felt Aaron Hotchner rise up behind me, approaching me quickly and rapid, his gun raised, his team following like a loyal dog. Agent Prentiss showed up behind Morgan, whom still stood frozen on his spot, like the statue of an angel on a graveyard. I glanced over my shoulder, my eyes interlaced with Hotchner's, his burning with rage and fire, my calm and God-like. The bus stopped right in front of me and I disappeared.

They followed me, with their cameras, Penelope Garcia uncontrolled and feverishly working behind her machines to try to catch me, keep track of me to see where I had gone. She would work till late at night and ended up sobbing, releasing the agonizing ache that filled her heart when she realised that despite everything, I was gone again. Like ashes of reminiscent love in the wind. Everything and nothing would keep Aaron Hotchner up late at night, working in his office, hoping, praying, wishing and waiting that I wouldn't have given the final push to the mighty Morgan, whom had been balancing on the edge of the cliff. I might have pushed him. And he might have fallen off the cliff. But Derek Morgan would always find a way back. That's why I loved him, why we were meant for each other. I knew that someday, he would come looking for me, with or without his badge, with or without his anger.

Because that was what we did, what nobody would understand, no matter how long Hotchner locked himself up in his office. We loved. And we returned.


End file.
